


In Full Faith and Confidence

by Greenninjagal



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Emails, Latin, M/M, Magic Necklaces, Professional Exy (All For The Game), Renee and Ronan would have an amazing friendship and you can pry it from my cold dead hands, Renee is pretty badass, Secrets, night horrors, this has been in my drafts for so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:59:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenninjagal/pseuds/Greenninjagal
Summary: “Sorry,” she said but it sounded like: “You're a Jackass.”“Apology accepted.” Ronan’s smile was all teeth. If she wasn't a girl, if he hadn't been raised to give girls flowers, if they were anywhere but a public library, Ronan thought he would have decked her.***aka long before Natalie Walker discovers her faith and Ronan Lynch figures out the trick to pulling things from his dreams, they both meet in the little town of Henrietta Virginia.





	In Full Faith and Confidence

**Author's Note:**

> So I cannot physically remember when I first started writing this one but like...I just finished it today. :) please accept this long overdue crossover fic.

The first time Ronan ever wrote the letter, he did so on Gansey’s computer. It had been one of those days where the fearless captain had taken his hideous orange mistake to school and Ronan just…hadn't. Not that he tried to do it the other days, but that day he had been even more impervious to Gansey’s whining than normal. He was not getting out of his bed until he himself felt like it, and Gansey’s could deal with it.

The building had been quiet. Ronan didn't know where Noah had gone, just that he had indeed left. He had was whole building to himself and the knicknacks he had managed to pull half finished from his nightmares. 

He hadn’t meant for the letter to even come about. The same way he barely ever meant to take things out of his dreams, he hadn’t meant to trip over Gansey’s discarded mess of cardboard Henrietta. He sure as hell hadn’t meant to unearth the sleek laptop from the carnage of wasted bed sheets that had covered his makeshift sleeping pallet.

It was still running with a web search for Welsh Swords. Ronan had barely wasted the energy on rolling his eyes before he picked it up and placed it somewhere less likely for Gansey to collapse on it: the coffee table.

He ate a breakfast of leftover pizza while staring at the computer on the coffee table.

When he left to grab his car keys he walked right next to it.

When he came back hours later, his head pounding and his blood pumping and his lungs short of breath, the laptop was still untouched and he was still alone in Monmouth Manufacturing. 

Ronan, ever so elegant, tossed himself on Gansey’s pallet and pulled the expensive hardware into his lap. His mind was empty, mostly as he maneuvered the tiny mouse around the screen closing out the millions tabs his friend had left open for research. He was sure Gansey had written them down somewhere anyway; what didn’t Gansey document about the Welsh King? Glendower had been sleeping for a couple thousand years; Ronan doubted the old man would mind if he slept a couple minutes more while Gansey reopened the browsers.

Once he was successfully only staring at the blank search bar and his fingers had stopped shaking so much, Ronan finally opened up his email, which he was surprised to find he still remembered the password for. 

He had twenty unopened emails from Declan, all addressing in a stern tone that he needed to pay more attention to school, he had several from the school headmaster, his guidance counselor offering her services and one link from Gansey to a Glendower page that Ronan would rather stab his eyes out than look at. Everything went into the trash bin, with a furious click.

There was only one thing left when he was done. A single blimp over his drafts, reminding him of things unfinished. It was ridiculous to even think he’d ever sent an email out, much less started one.

Despite his hazing memory of writing anything, once he clicked it and was the email address, his heart leapt into his throat and his blood washed itself out with icy water. Suddenly he was two years younger, sitting at his desk in his room in the Barns, headphones on, with music up so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. Declan was somewhere else with a girl Ronan had never seen before five minutes ago and his mother was out with Matthew tending to the cows.

_ Dad, _

_ When are you coming back? Declan ha _

That was it. All of the incredibly informal email, Ronan had written while his father was away on a business trip. Ronan, innocent, and upset, and missing his father had started a letter and he would never finish it because that Ronan didn’t exist anymore.

When he closed his eyes, when he blinked, all he could see was his father’s body, lying on the driveway, only a couple meters from the front door. His body crumpled, like a rag doll, and this red liquid dripping out of his head. He could still hear his own yelling in his head, like it was burned on a CD and left on repeat for the rest of eternity. He could still feel the cold brush of skin when his fingers met contact with his father’s corpse in a desperate attempt to wake him up, please wake up,  _ Dad please don’t go-- _

The Ronan who had wrote the email, was someone who had died with his father. The Ronan 2.0 was a downgrade: far more hostile, far more angry, and far more traumatised in his dreams.

He did a keyboard smash across the lines just to prove that he could. Fuck the old Ronan, he could go to Hell. Fuck Declan because he still was an asshole after the funeral, after all three of them being banished from the Barns and after Ronan had told him to stay the fuck out of his life. Fuck his brain for having this  _ shit ability that no one ever taught him how to use.  _ How to not use it. How to sleep without worrying that he was going to bring back some hideous version of Hell that existed in his head and how to not have these freaks tear him apart, tear Gansey or Noah apart.

Fuck Gansey for being a calm and collected friend through all this, for putting up with Ronan 2.0 like he was still someone worth putting up with. For giving him a home and a smile and on rare occasions a reason not to drive his car directly off a cliff at one hundred sixty miles over the speed limit.

Fuck the will, for banishing him from the Barns, his home, his  _ mother.  _ For it’s cold harsh words that did not sound at all like his father’s storytelling voices, for its abruptness, its stupidity. 

Fuck his father, Niall Lynch, for dying, for doing something stupid enough to get himself murdered on the  _ driveway  _ of his kid's  _ family home _ . 

Before Ronan knew what he was doing his fingers were launching across the keyboard spelling out hateful words in hateful sentences that didn't quite make sense to anyone other than Ronan. Hateful little truths that he had never told anyone, that he would never tell anyone.

He wrote all down in a letter addressed to a man who had been dead and buried and rotting in Hell.

“Watcha writing?” 

Ronan jumped out of his skin, spitting off a curse directed at nobody. He hadn’t heard Noah come in, but the pale boy was suddenly leaning over the pallet with a look of interest on his face. Ronan slammed the laptop closed before he could see exactly what it was.

“Fuck off, Noah.” Ronan bit

Noah pouted. “Isn’t that Gansey’s computer?”

Ronan glared at the cardboard city in front of him. His tongue rubbed his teeth so hard he almost tasted blood, but that was better than snapping at his friend for something he had nothing to do with.

The silence was tense. Ronan let it filter through his system like a cleaner. He felt rather than heard Noah shift behind him.

“I won’t tell.” Noah said like he knew exactly what Ronan had been writing so furiously about. The other boy left the room without a sound.

Ronan didn’t delete the message.

The second time he had ditched his class and used one of the school’s computers. For being a prestigious school, the library computers were horrible obsolete. It took a full three minutes to boot up the monitor and another four to find the right password to let him in. The Librarians gave him curious glances, as if they couldn’t quite believe that Ronan Lynch, son of Niall Lynch was really sitting in one of their wooden chairs to work on school work.

Ronan was not working on school work.

He wasn’t sure what had triggered his need-- it could have been Dick making a face when someone mentioned his mother in passing, it could have been Noah giving him that knowing look that morning though he hadn’t opened his email in a month now, maybe it was because Declan had left him yet another voice message on his phone bringing the total now to sixteen. Ronan found the untouched draft and opened it for editing.

His eyes skimmed over the last words, which all mashed together in a single block paragraph. His cursor roamed the rows without a real destination until he got the the end. He left off mid word.

Ronan started a new paragraph without finishing the last word.

_ I hate the things I pull from my dreams. _

It almost sounded poetic. In a knife-edge-digging-into-his-chest sort of way. He of course hated the things he didn’t pull from his dreams too, like Government class and Declan. But mostly he hated the mornings when he woke up body stiff and numb amidst the dry light of faint morning rays, carrying something impossible in his hands: cellphones that only worked at night, sunglasses that saw emotions, night crawling creatures that attempted to kill him while he was immobile and left him to let Gansey believe he was suicidal because that was easier to say than  _ “I was attacked by an imaginary monster.”  _

He hated that he couldn’t tell anyone what was going on. Ha was alone and his father was dead and it truly was a sob story if Ronan had ever been one to celebrate a sob story. Gansey thought he was likely to kill himself, Noah seemed distant in a way that made Ronan want to end it all almost.

Almost.

But who would watch over Gansey if he died, right? Who would make sure there were epi pens scattered in every corner of Monmouth Manufacturing and in the Pig and in Gansey’s backpack? Who would brave the lecture that the Senator’s son could whip out on a whim and go with him to uncharted areas of States and listen to him go on about ley lines and welsh kings?

What was Ronan if he wasn’t by Gansey’s side?

He wasted half the day in the library. No one came to interrupt him, no one came to bother him. It wasn’t nice, and it wasn’t pretty. The second paragraph stretched down long impossible rows of text. Ronan wasn’t know for being nice, and he wasn’t known for wasting time to make his words pretty and clean.

Something raw dripped onto the screen when he typed. Something raw that came from inside the broken boy who shaved his head and wore black and bit at the leather wrist bands on his arm when he got annoyed.

Something raw sat on the screen until Ronan decided he was finished. Then he saved the draft and logged out. When he left the school he drove as fast as he could in any direction he could and he almost felt alive.

The third time Gansey had dragged him to the public Library, by some manner of groveling that wasn’t really grovelling because Gansey made everything he said sound like a compelling friendly suggestion. Ronan didn’t think he’d ever been to the the public library with the intention of actually studying or researching. But Gansey had asked nicely, so here he was.

“Don’t you own most of these books already?” Ronan asked, his voice bouncing off the narrow bookshelves that looked like they hadn’t been touched since Glendower had gone missing. It smelled like must and old things, which seemed to delightly Gansey to no extent.

“Not quite,” He started pushing his glasses up his nose in a sophisticated manner, “I wanted to do some research on boating records around the time of Glendower’s death, but then I realized that I don’t know the type of Welsh ship that could have made the trip.”

“If he made the trip,” Ronan inserted, but Gansey waved off the thought. Of course he had no doubt that the king had made it all the way to the Americas (most days).

“So if we can narrow down what type of ship Glendower was on we can then search the records for significant findings of Welsh ships on American shores.” Gansey pulled a book down from a shelf and handed it to Ronan. “That should help us at least eliminate certain areas along the coast.”

Ronan tossed the book on the table nearby and with false happiness he inquired, “And what if they decided to visit the Canadians?”

“Then we’ll search Canadian news too!” Gansey smiled his delighted smile,  “Come on with your help we can probably get it done in a couple days--wait Ronan! Where are you going?”

He loved Gansey like a brother. But Ronan was not going to spend more than twenty minutes humoring his obsessive research style. Ronan would travel with him to any place he wanted, be it by boat or car or train or spaceship, be it the depths of the ocean or the planet Saturn if his research led him there. But there was no way even Gansey would have gotten him to sit down with a couple books to study wooden boats for fucks sake.

Gansey called after him only twice more before he wilted under the glare of the librarian. Ronan shrugged off a satisfied feeling and placed himself in a secluded area with a computer. The screen was black but the monitor hummed and he shook the ancient mouse to wake it.

When it did splutter back to life, Ronan merely stared at the screen. What was he going to do? It wasn't like he could leave Gansey here (Gansey was his ride) and it wasn't like he was going to actually do research for these god awful boats. Maybe he could look into that project for English that was due a month ago and get fucking Declan off his back but then he might receive another call from his upstanding brother. God forbid Declan say anything that wasn't about how much of a disappointment Ronan was.

Somehow the draft email got opened.

And this time he asked his father why Declan barely seemed affected by his death.

Because that was the truth, right? Declan didn't seem affected by the death of their father, by the banishment from their family home, by the sudden burden of become the man of a broken house. He picked it all up like he picked up that blonde girl with the cherry red lips and heels too high to walk in.

Ronan had changed, Declan and Matthew had stayed the same.

That was all.

The draft email was longer than he expected, with words he hadn't expected. But they were out of him and that's all that mattered. His father, wherever his soul may be, heaven or hell, could do what he wanted with the words typed on the screen. He would continue to ignore the noisy vibrations of his phone is his pocket.

At least until the caller ID read Matthew instead of Declan. At least until his heart jumped into his throat and he nervously wondered why the fuck they both were trying to contact him.

No it wasn't nervousness: it was dread that sound itself around his chest with inky black thorns and tight constricting coils.

“Matthew,” He breathed the name, barely registering that he had left the computer: everything stopped when it came to Matthew.

“Ronan!” Matthew's voice was heavy, laden with deep attempts at breathing. Had he been running? Ronan gnawed the leash bracelets on in his opposite hand, anxiety tearing through his limbs. Was his brother in trouble? He left his keys with Gansey-- a promise that he wouldn't leave without the other boy. He'd run to wherever Matthew was if he was in trouble.

“Ronan,” Matthew said again, “Can we go? Please, please, please? All three of us? Please?”

Ronan stopped a mere couple of feet from the glass doors and the exit sign. “what?”

“The Church picnic, Ronan!” Matthew elaborated, “it’s after church on Sunday, and Declan said we could go but I want you to come too. Please?”

If it was anyone else Ronan would have hung up. Regardless of the fact if it had been anyone else he wouldn't have even picked up.

“Ronan?”

“I thought you were dying.” He said biding time with the question. It meant a full extra two hours of standing in public with Declan. It meant toning down his rueful smiles and sharp comments because it was a holy event. A _picnic_. It meant leaving Gansey alone for most of a day, except Noah would be there with him to make sure he didn't forget to eat between becoming an expert on _Welsh_ _boats_ of all things.

“I swear I'll never ask for another thing, Ronan, please. I want you to be there.”

It meant that he could see Matthew with his stunning blue eyes and angelic golden curls, smiling like the whole world had been given to him despite them both having no parents anymore.

“Alright,” Ronan said, because  _ that _ would be worth it.

“Really? You mean it? Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” 

Ronan hung up now, without a goodbye and Matthew was probably used to it. They'd see each other in two days anyway. Ronan sighed back the residing anxiety in his limbs, his heart calmer, and his mood a little darker. He couldn't say no to Matthew, could he? He turned on heel and started back to the computer. 

He did not expect someone to already be at the computer when he got there.

She was short, a good head and a half under him (Which could mean nothing because he was tall). She wore thick jeans and a blouse with black arm band riding her wrists up to her elbows. Ronan didn't like the look of her bleach blonde pixie cut, or the way she was leaning over his forgotten chair, one hand one the mouse the other on a Walkman clipped to her hip. He didn't like that she, this unknown variable, was reading his email.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She didn't flinch like most did when he spoke like his voice was a weapon, a knife, poised to tear through flesh like butter. Instead the girl glanced at him, unimpressed, and pressed a button on her Walkman.

“This yours?” She asked, as if she hadn't just been reading it.

“Fuck off my computer, Walkman!” Ronan reached forward to yank the mouse from her hand, but she was faster- jolting to the side before he even got close. Ronan didn't see where the blade came from, but he certainly felt it.

“ _ Walker _ .” She corrected, barely more than a breath, “How did you--”

“I was referring to your fucking music box, princess,” Ronan growled, “Get your fucking blade away from me.”

She blinked and glanced down to where they were nearly pressing together, her knife kissing the cloth above his abdomen. All she would have to do is dig in and Ronan would start spewing blood like he spewed curses. The library was quiet, and anyone who would have intervened was shelves away.

She pulled the knife back, slowly, as if cautious of her own movements. Ronan scowled at the way the shining tip slid into her arm band, silent and lethal and undoubtedly one of the most impressive things he'd seen.

“Sorry,” she said but it sounded like: “ _ You're a Jackass.” _

“Apology accepted.” Ronan’s smile was all teeth. If she wasn't a girl, if he hadn't been raised to give girls flowers, if they were anywhere but a public library, Ronan thought he would have decked her.

She seemed to understand and not care in the slightest. The girl let go of the mouse, clicked her tongue, strolled away without a look back. Ronan found that bit the worst. It rubbed his skin raw underneath the blood vessels and flesh and rode his nerves until they were nothing more than tatters of anger. 

She had read most of the email.

Ronan logged out of the computer stormed off to find Gansey. When he did locate the boy chatting up the librarian with his signature Richard Gansey III smile, he dragged his friend out of the library by the stupid collar on his stupid polo.

***

He forgot about the Sunday church picnic.

Well, more accurately he forgot until he pulled into the parking lot and saw Matthew with a glowing smile. He shot a text to Gansey, with reluctance because he hated texting anyone other than Matthew. It was barely four whole words, and he turned his phone off immediately after. He didn't know if the other boy would respond but Ronan was in no way chancing it.

The service was long. 

But only long because Ronan knew he would be sticking around to allow the older patrons to ogle at how big he had gotten and sent their remorses for his late father. Declan would tell them they were well received and Matthew would try to change the subject. Ronan would glare at the ground until they, whoever they were, left.

The church picnic was outside on the church grounds. Little kids chased each other around and someone had had the foresight to drag out some chairs for the older patrons. A buffet style table was set up and a man in a polo had dragged out a grill.

Ronan hadn’t known if they were supposed to bring some homemade dish, but nobody came and bugged him about it. The table cloths were old and repurposed, but Ronan willingly lent hand to the older woman who seemed to be struggling by herself. She smiled and called him by his brother’s name.

After that Ronan did his best to avoid everyone without leaving the party entirely. It wasn’t that difficult. He kept a cup of lemonade that was sour enough to kill a man in one hand and some stupid homemade cookies that someone had ruined by shoving raisins in them in the other. 

He watched Matthew parade around the field with his glowing smile and a few of the choir boys. They were playing tag, he thought as many of the older patrons shot them annoyed looks that melted to amusement when they saw just how happy they were playing. Declan got himself wrapped up in a discussion of the bible at one of the tables and almost eagerly traded opinions on the readings.

He wished he wore a watch. At some point Ronan realized he was out of lemonade and he found himself meandering back to the table. The burgers were already gone, but there was plenty of chips, pretzels, and store bought brownies left. Ronan shoved an entire brownie in his mouth. 

“Excuse me!”

Ronan choked when the hand tapped his shoulder. He hadn't expected anyone to be talking to him, much less a woman as colorful as the one beside him. Her dress was white with little rainbow flowers, and she had an embarrassingly large sun hat on. Her sunglasses were rosepink and easy to see through when she smiled at him.

“Oh dear! I'm so sorry!” she gave him space, “So sorry!”

Ronan swallowed the rest of the brownie, and cleared his throat. He took another look at the woman: she was old enough to be his mom, if his mom wasn't currently bedridden at the Barns and he wasn't currently forbidden to see her. She had the same kind smile, but Ronan didn't think he had ever seen her before.

“Are you okay?” She asked, “I didn't mean to startle you!”

Ronan resisted the urge to back away from her. “It's okay.”

“I was just wondering... If you were Niall Lynch’s son?” 

All the good things Ronan thought about her evaporated in an instant.

“Declan?” The woman prompted, “I was on the phone with you the other day? I'm Stephanie Walker. You said you'd be happy to--”

“Steph,” another voice cut in suddenly. Ronan hadn't thought his mood could have gotten darker, but it did.

The voice belonged to a very familiar girl with white hair and arm bands that held shiny knives. She had her walkman with her still, but she graciously unwrapped the the headphones to give Stephanie Walker a pointed look.

“Oh Renee!” Stephanie smiled, “Are you-”

“It’s Natalie. And he's not Declan Lynch.” The girl gave her a bored look, “Aren't you supposed to be a reporter who knows this kind of stuff?”

Stephanie looked taken aback. Ronan for lack of refined words, merely pointed to where Declan was sitting. Stephanie glanced between Ronan and Natalie multiple times before her pursed her lips, “My mistake.” She admitted, “I'm so sorry.”

Ronan thought she was also going to say something to Natalie, but she made another call at the last second. She probably remembered they were at a holy gathering and bad words were prohibited lest the fairies die.

Ronan watched her walk off, recognizing now her reporter stroll and the way she held herself.

Natalie didn't seem as eager to leave. She reached around him for a brownie and took three. Ronan set his eyes across the field a found Matthew again.

“You know it's not healthy to write letters to the dead.”

Ronan nearly crushed the plastic cup of lemonade in his hand. Natalie didn't notice or didn't care. She took another brownie and put it in her pocket.

“You know it's not healthy to read someone else's emails.” Ronan mocked back, “Really they might just stage an accident for you.”

“Are you threatening me? At the Lord's table?” 

Her smile was a mirror image of his. Mocking and dangerous. If he didn't hate her so much for existing, Ronan thought he might have liked her. But as it was, she hadn't given a second thought to reading something private and she had most definitely read about his dream magic.

She wasn't just dangerous, she was lethal. And it was possible she could drag Matthew into whatever it was too. He want going to let that happen.

“It's kinda funny,” She went on. “I almost think you believe it.”

Ronan didn't say anything. It took more willpower than he thought it would. He was never very good at holding his tongue. 

“I mean, it's a shit story,” She said, talking another brownie without eating any of the others. Ronan wondered if she was taking them just to anger him. “Terrible writing quality. I hope you aren't going to try for an English major in college.”

She thought it was a story. She thought Ronan had been writing a completely fictional story. Ronan was equal parts annoyed and relieved. She gave him an out, even if it was stupid. 

Still he hesitated too long in his response, “No one asked you.”

She smirked as of she had something to smirk about, “You're awfully tense about this, aren't you? What, are you afraid you'll seem like less of a man if you tell people you're a shitty closet writer?”

“Maybe you should fuck off, Walkman.”

“Walk- _ er.” _ She corrected like it mattered to him. “It's nothing to be ashamed of. There are worse things to be in the closet for.”

Despite himself Ronan snorted.

The girl cocked her head. Her white hair swayed in the gentle breeze like a taunt. “Oh woe, don't tell me you're gay as well. I thought your god didn't believe in gay people.”

There was a certain dip in tone that Ronan picked up. Like she couldn't believe she'd meet someone quite like him. Ronan greeted her with a glittering snarl.

“If “my god” didn't believe in gay people, he wouldn't have made them.” He drank the last of his lemonade and crushed the cup in one go.

“Are you sure about that?” She stopped looking at him and instead stared at the brownies on her plate as of she wasn't how they got there.

“Yes,” Ronan said, “But if you want to continue sticking your nose into my business, why don't you go spend an hour or two in the church. Maybe you'll find some goddamn manners.”

Ronan didn't waste time wondering when he became such a hypocrite. He pulled out his car keys and swung them on his middle finger. He waved at Matthew who may have seen him or may have not and he ignored Declan and Stephanie Walker. He made it to his car without incident and he thought he could still see Natalie where he left her alone at the food table.

Natalie didn't look up as he left.

***

Ronan wasn’t sure what dragged him back to the Church at eleven o’clock the following night. Maybe it was just the usual need for divine presence in his life. Or maybe it was because Gansey was once again in need of having his his head bashed in and Ronan was having a hard time not being the person to do it. 

This was far from the first time he had been in the church at night. He almost preferred it like this: with only the emergency lights of the hall on and the the stain glass windows dark. The moonlight lit up a few of the towering columns and the pews and the alter. It was empty and Ronan who never felt save anywhere, allowed a bit of his walls to come down. He sunk into the pew, kicking his feet up on the bench and laid down. He stared at the cavernous ceiling taking deep breaths.

“Glendower this, Welsh ships that.” He muttered to no one. He closed his eyes and tucked his arms behind his head. He should just dream up a life sized ship for Gansey and let him have a go at it. But that would require Ronan knowing about Welsh ships and Gansey not asking any of his favorite how, where, and when questions. 

Ronan couldn’t quite tell him that he could just pull things from his dreams. He didn’t even know where he would start with it. Gansey might believe in a lot, but Ronan wasn’t stupid enough to think that he would believe his dreams came to life sometimes. Ronan didn’t think he’d be able to handle it if Gansey demanded proof of his ability and Ronan wasn’t able to bring something out. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if Gansey didn’t believe him at all.

So it was better just to keep it to himself.

Besides something like this would only distract him from Glendower in the end.

Or at least that was what Ronan told himself. Gansey didn’t need any more distractions. He barely slept as it was. Ronan didn’t need to encourage that insomnia anymore. 

His dream was weird. Weirder than normal. The sun was out. He was in the forest, the trees towering tall above him. They shuffled in the breeze, calm and collected. He sat up, looking around. He knew this place, it was as familiar as the church or the barns. He felt as if he had been there a million times before.

He was not often alone in it though. He frowned. It was quiet, and that unnerved him even if he couldn’t say why. There was always something happening; Ronan wasn’t a peaceful person before his dad had died and he more certainly wasn’t afterward. 

He checked the trees but they didn’t offer any helpful Latin words or advice. He darted forward, picking his way between them. This was his world, his mind, and he knew all the ways to get where he wanted to go.

He turned left at the towering redwood. He should have found a clearing, littered with fallen leaves and grass so green it nearly hurt to look at. He would spend the time here staring at the ocean of a sky and think of all the things he hated about the real world and all the things he wanted to change.

On the top of the list was a necklace that would tell him when Gansley or Noah or Matthew were in trouble. Because even a small warning was something. Because he wouldn’t let history repeat itself. Because the next time one of them were going to die, Ronan would be there before and he’d stop it, and he’d never have to see so much blood splattered across the driveway again.

He turned left and was greeted by a small girl in an white fisherman’s sweater with long blond hair. 

“Great,” Ronan said, “Help me.”

She immediately started shaking her head. Good god, she was trembling already.  _ “Non liceo!” _

“What the fuck,” Ronan cursed, “I just fucking got here!”

She looked up at him, “They are coming!” 

“Then help me now!” He snarled at her. He bent to the ground dragging his fingers though the soft soil. He knew she wasn’t joking; she was too scared of his night terrors joke about this. But why had they come so soon?

Usually they waited until after he at least  _ tried  _ to make something. And usually not when he was sleeping in the church (because holiness and some shit).

“Greywaren!” The girl yelped. She was watching the sky, “Run!”

“I need this!” He told her. 

He didn’t look up at her, but the the area around them was starting to dim as the sky was flooded with an ugly purple. The warning before the monsters reached them. The orphan girl grabbed onto his shirt, tugging,  _ “Oportet te currere!”  _

He shook her off, “Come on.” He imagined the necklace was here: just under the dirt, but shining. It was made of silver that glittered in the moonlight, a strong chain that couldn’t be broken and a simple cross that he could tuck under his shirts. He reached deep within himself, holding on to the desire, that stupid desire, to keep all his friends safe.

The orphan girl grabbed onto his arm, her knees dumping her right next to him. She was crying, ugly fat tears, and speaking in that other language that Ronan recognized from all the other times she had spoken in it. He didn’t know what she was saying, but the trees were shuddering, dropping the fresh spring leaves. Wind tore through the clearing.

Darkness rushed at them both. 

Ronan’s fingers brushed something-- he grabbed it without looking. 

“You can die here,” the girl said. “Take me with you!”

Ronan had a million reasons why he couldn’t. Starting with he didn’t know what to do with a kid and ending with she had hooves instead of feet. He hadn’t dreamed her with a sense of understanding of his own world, but even if he had tried to explain something loomed over her shoulder. A giant form with grotesque wings and bulging inhuman limbs. 

The night terror leapt at him with its claws opened wide.

Ronan woke himself up.

All his limbs were lead, cemented in place. There was a buzzing in his head, his senses all slowly rebooting himself. Loading Ronan 2.0, please wait.

Except that he didn’t have time to wait. He could feel it like a scream building in his chest worming up his throat: He had brought back the necklace, but he had brought something else back too. His eyes shoot open but his body was encased in an unbreakable binding. All he could see was the monster over top of him, adjusting to the sudden world change, to being real instead of part of Ronan’s dark side. It bellowed with more teeth than Ronan could count.

It raised its arms, hitting the metal chandeliers. The wings arched on its back, muddled in the moonlight and the echoed darkness of the Church. Ronan couldn’t move when it’s entire demented form thrusted its knife-like claws downwards. 

That was how they would find him the next morning: the nuns all screaming when they found his body torn limb from limb, blood splattered all across the pews and no one having any clue how it happened, because demons like this didn’t actually exist anywhere. Gansley and Noah would have to bury him, Matthew would have to stand at his funeral and try and think of something nice to say about him. Declan would turn it into a goddamn event, win the pity points he needed for his future career as a successful politician. 

But maybe that wasn’t so bad? Why did Ronan need to stay? Gansley didn’t need his help to find Glendower. He didn’t need Ronan’s friendship the way Ronan knew he needed Gansley’s. He might be able to get some straight answers from his dad too, when he died. He’d be able to ask why someone had killed him, why Ronan had gotten this power when it only managed to kill him in the end. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever--

He didn’t see what happened, not at first. He just knew one second the claws were about to dig into his chest and carve out his heart, and the next the monster was screeching and withdrawing into the air. 

Something splattered on his face, either saliva or blood, but he couldn’t imagine what had caused it. His eyes caught sight of something to his left, hidden by the wooden pews. An object scraped through the air, glinting in the moonlight, and it plunged into the bulging arm of the terror.

The feeling returned in his feet, traveling so slow, too slow. He watched with morbid curiosity as the monster screeched and dived towards something else, someone else. He could feel the cold sweat on the back of his neck, the stiff clamminess of his palms gripping the chain necklace so tight that he thought he might cut of his own fingers with it. 

The monster screamed again.

Ronan threw all his energy into rolling over. His body flopped onto ground, earning him at least a few bruises. His arms were shaky. But he managed to push himself up just enough to force his knees underneath him. Kneeling on the ground he took several deep breaths, before he threw himself up in the air and latched on to the pew in front of him. 

The scene in front of him was disorienting. He was expecting the monster towering over a nun that had been in the wrong-place-wrong-time, just seconds from dying, that he wasn’t sure how he was going to stop, but knew he had to.

Natalie was standing in the front of the church, and she was dripping in blood that wasn’t hers. In one hand she had a simple elegant knife, the other pressed to her mouth like she could believe what she had just done. The Nightmare was on the ground in front of her, chucks on wet flesh on the red carpet and another knife sunk so deeply in its chest that Ronan wasn’t sure she could have gotten it out at all. The entire building was silent. 

It was just the two of them. 

Natalie looked up at him, her dark eyes staring at him with horror. She dropped the knife in her hand and stumbled back until her feet stumbled on the steps to the altar. Ronan wanted to tell her it was a dream, but then she was laughing-- hysterically laughing, and even though she tried to muffle it with her hands it broke through and echoed in the cavernous Church.

“You weren’t…” She gasped, “...it! That’s…!” 

Ronan coughed, “What.”

She carted her fingers through her pale hair, the blood on her hands dragging across her face. Even at this distance, he could see she was crying, just barely holding it together.

He stood shakily, tested walking a step and stumbled. The metal of the cross necklace clattered on the wooden bench.

“You weren’t making it up,” She said, a whisper that carried all the way to him. Ronan flinched without meaning to.

“Of course I fucking wasn’t, Walkman!” he snarled, nearly biting his tongue, “I told you not to read other people’s goddamn mail.” He pulled himself back up and managed to take another few uneasy steps. The buzzing in his head subsided, enough for him to think clearly.

He needed to get rid of the monster, before someone found them, before someone noticed. He’d need to clean all the blood off the pews and the carpet. He’d need to make sure that Natalie Walker wasn’t going to lose it right now and go calling the police.

“Why were you here?” He asked her, coming closer. His eyes watched the monster to make sure it wasn’t about to come back to life. It looked like she had killed it, and killed it well. The way that she had done it suggested that she had done it before as well.

She sat on the steps, digging her nails into the wood. “My sign,” she laughed. “It’s my sign.”

“ _ What _ ?” Ronan snapped.

She wiped a trail of tears off her cheek, “I asked your god for a sign that I belong here.” She motioned to it.

Ronan stared at her, and he thought about laughing. She was covered in blood, saying that his mistakes had been God showing her the way. He wanted to tell her the truth, but she knew the truth already too. 

She knew that he bought things from his dreams into real life.

“You can’t tell anyone.” He said instead.

She stared at him, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to fucking disappear in a government van in the middle of the fucking night.”

“Right,” She said slowly, turning to face the carnage in front of them, “I’ll help you clean this up, but you’ll owe me.”

“What makes you think I need your help?”

“You’ve hidden a body before?”

Ronan’s smile was not nice, “Have you?”

She laughed, and Ronan, who knew days ago that sound had been the worst thing he had ever heard, thought it was rather reassuring. She stood up, out of her shock, and picked up her knife off the ground before wiping it carelessly on her blouse.

“I want that necklace in your hand,” She said.

“Pick something else.”

“You dreamed that up, didn’t you?” She insisted, “it does something, doesn’t it?”

“It’s none of your business.” 

“I’ll go to the police.”

“You think they’re going to believe you?”

“I’m a female covered in blood. I could say Godzilla wrecked my house and they’d load up their vans and call for the National Guard.” 

Ronan stared at the necklace in his hand. He thought about Gansley in his shitty car breaking down somewhere and getting stung somewhere where he couldn’t get cell reception. He thought of Matthew and his friends going to the skatepark and getting in an accident because they were all stupid teenagers who thought they were invincible.

“I can’t,” he said sharply, “I need it.”

She looked at the blood on the ground, and then back at him. “What does it do?”

He shouldn’t have said anything but it came out quietly, with an edge that was meant to keep her away, “It warms up when the people I consider friends are in trouble.”

“So it’s useless if you end up in jail,” She said, “For murder of a...whatever this is.”

“Fuck off.” 

“You can just dream another,” she pointed out. “And if another one of these things comes too, I’ll be there to kill it again.”

“You?”

Natalie Renee Walker smiled at him, “It will tell me when you’re in danger, right? Since I consider you a friend?”

Ronan had never disagreed with a statement more in his life. She was a mess, a threat, and just as likely to kill as him as help him. But she knew how to hide bodies, and the best way to scrub blood off wooden floorboards. Nothing about that was comforting.

He didn’t think she knew what the word “friend” meant at all.

***

“Stop that,” Ronan batted the back of Opal’s head. “How many times have I told you not to chew your sleeves.”

“Adam lets me do it!”

“I know for a fact that Adam does not let you do that.” Ronan said, “Don’t think you can get away with your lies when he isn’t here.”

Opal huffed, but she shoved her hands in her sweatshirt pocket. Ronan couldn’t help but smirk just a bit. He gave her a squeeze on the shoulder as he guided her towards the reserved seats section. He didn’t know how he ended up like this--whatever this was with Opal and Adam and Chainsaw--but he kinda liked it. 

There was a guard stationed at the reserved seats section, acting as if there was really someone out there who was going to force their way into the section with the same plastic seats as everywhere, but just a bit closer. 

Nonetheless Ronan pulled the crumpled printout ticket from his pocket and offered it to the man. He frowned checking both of them over with a critical eye. Ronan smiled like a threat. “Problem?”

“Er, uh, no sir!” the man stepped back and let them into the section that normally held only family members and really close friends. Ronan was well aware he was wearing nothing Orange at all, because he was more likely to stand out wearing all black, and because he’d be caught dead before he wore something like that traffic cone color.

Adam on the other hand had made sure to dress Opal in the most obnoxious outfit he could find. “It’s a moral support thing, Lynch,” He had said.

“I’m not going for Moral support.” Ronan had replied, and he stood by that. He couldn’t care less about this stupid stickball thing, even if Renee hadn’t shut up about it once she had discovered it along the way of crafting her new persona. He barely understood the rules, and he most definitely hadn’t been following the Foxes through their surprising comeback last year against the ravens up to the end championship this year. 

Renee just kept sending him emails about what was going on, and he kept them purely for references on why the world was a shitty place. Like everything that had happened with Riko Moriyama? The Ravens? What happened to Neil Josten? Ronan had nearly destroyed himself for blackmailing an evil guy with murder; he didn’t understand how people could build secret empires to destroy others.

In the reserved seating there were already other people, but that was normal, because the game was in the middle of half time. Ronan was late, and he blamed traffic, but he didn’t exactly care either. The second half was always more exciting.

Their seats were conveniently in the middle of everyone else. He was sure Renee had done that on purpose because she was still the same little shit that had taken extra brownies from a church picnic just to irritate him. 

Opal leaned hesitated when she noticed, clinging to Ronan. “Kerah--”

“I’m right here, dummy,” He said to her, and even though she was bordering the age it was unacceptable to carry her, Ronan picked her up, before leading the way down aisle where a man who looked like a CEO and a woman half his age, wore matching wedding rings and held hands. Next to them was another woman who could probably lift Ronan’s BMW with her bare hands. None of them seem to noticed them as they were all in a conversation with four ladies a row up, and then the German kid a row down. 

“Hey,” Ronan butted in without ceremony, “Our seats are on your other side.”

The man looked at him clinically, taking in his short hair cut, his dark clothes, and the peaking of the tattoo on his shoulders. “You must be mistaken,” He said, “Those seats are usually for Stephanie Walker--”

Ronan dropped his seat ticket in the man’s lap, and proceeded to step over him and his wife. The other woman grinned, almost proudly at him, but didn’t offer anything more than to move so he could pass easier. 

Inside the Plexiglass arena, the mid game show was coming to an end, with the Palmetto band do their final bars. Ronan placed Opal in the seat against the wall, before slumping in the one reserved for him. He should probably text Adam to let the kid know they had arrived safely but he thought if he had to keep his eyes open even a second more, he might actually explode. Then Renee would have to explain to all her friends why she knows how to clean blood off of plastic seats too.

“ _ Ronan _ ,” Opal whined.

“Keep your shoes on.” He told her, “Wake me when this stupid game is over.”

He knew he got some offended looks for that one. He could feel it. But at the same time he did not give a single fuck. Renee would be happy he fucking showed up at all. Thinking that she could just guilt trip him like that! He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry to bother you--”

“Then don’t,” Ronan cut off the female voice.

She acted unphased, “--but is that kid yours? She’s adorable!” 

Ronan peeled open an eye to size up the girl. She was pretty, (well as pretty as it got when Ronan wasn’t into girls) but the giant “F” on her shirt was badly stitched and she was wearing orange face paint. Adam called this moral support, but Ronan considered it bad judgement.

“No,” he said, “She’s just some brat I saw wondering the Parking lot.”

“ _ Ronan _ ,” Opal whined again, she grabbed his arm and shook, “The game is starting again!” 

Just because Ronan disliked Exy, it did not mean that Opal wasn’t very fascinated by the sport. It was terrible really, because it took Ronan weeks to dream up the perfect racquet for her. Little leagues season didn’t start for another month, but she had taken advantage of their TV to watch any and all Exy matches that were on. Adam had even gone as far as making her pancakes shaped like Exy balls (which wasn’t hard at all but Opal delighted in them far too much for Ronan to point it out).

“What’s the score?” Ronan asked the woman beside him.

“7-3,” She said proudly, “Foxes. My Matt’s been blocking all their strikers from getting close!” 

“Who’s in Goal?”

“Andrew was in for the first half, but they usually switch. I guess it will be Renee now.”

“Perfect,” Ronan got comfortable, and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew Opal was right in his ear screaming. Ronan woke with a start, throwing himself upright to fight. But everyone else was yelling excitedly, up on their feet cheering like they had just been told they had all been granted immortality. 

“We won! We Won! Kerah! We Won!” Opal shrieked climbing into Ronan’s lap. He glanced at the scoreboard, seeing that Renee had closed down the goal for the most part. 11-5. He guess that was good. The girls behind him were practically crying. The players on the court were all huddled around each other in a giant orange blob all around the goal. They all looked the same to Ronan, but he was sure Renee was somewhere in there, grinning with genuine happiness.

He picked up Opal and carried her towards the exit while everyone was cheering. The loud noises were already giving him a headache, but he knew when the excitement wore off, Opal would probably reduce herself to a puddle at the unfamiliars of the area. Especially people. She wasn’t the best crowded places. 

(Also part of him knew if he let her, she’d kick off those stupid shoes and run around with her hooved feet. That was really the last thing he needed right now) 

So they went out to the parking lot and sat in the grass. Ronan let her talk all about the game, about her favorite players (which changed every game she watched because she liked anyone who played well). She was so excited she only tried to eat the grass twice. 

It took awhile for the Foxhole Court to empty, the fans raving about how awesome the Foxes were. The other team boarded the bus with a defeated aura, but Ronan didn’t know enough of the sport to know who it was. The last out were the Foxes’ family, all who hung around the exits with loud laughter Ronan could hear even from a distance. 

The Foxes came out jumping and yelling. Ronan nearly scoffed, but he had seen that look on Adam’s face when he found out he was accepted to every college he applied to.

Besides before he could, a form broke from the pack, and made a sprint straight for him.

“Ronan!” Natalie Renee Walker didn’t wait for him to get up, she tackled him to the ground in a hug that probably should have killed them both. “I can’t believe you came!” 

“Fuck off, Walkman! Are you trying to kill me?!” Ronan shoved her but not enough to push her off. 

She laughed. “It’s Walk- _ er _ !” She corrected even though they both knew by now. Her still wet hair shimmered in the flickering parking lot lights. 

“The pastel looks good,” He said. “But it doesn’t suit you. Have you considered vomit green?”

“Haha, at least I have hair.” She flicked his forehead, “That’s more than you can say.”

“Well I’m rich enough not to have a second job as a fucking traffic cone.”

“Ah, yes remind me what you did do get that wealth? Be born?”

“Jealous?”

“No, I have God.”

He snorted sitting up. It had been years since they had seen each other, since she had helped him clean blood out of a carpet at two o’clock in the morning. She had left days after that with her new cross tucked under her shirt lest her mother see it and faint. A lot had happened, which he knew she left out of the sparse emails they send over the years.

Like how she failed to mention that she hadn’t grown an inch, or that she dyed her hair. She wore the cross over her clothes now, proudly. He knew that she preferred Renee to Natalie, unlike when they had first been introduced. This was the Renee who had embraced the light, who had become a protector with her knives rather than a destroyer. 

Ronan still didn’t think they should have been anything close as friends. But she hadn’t told anyone he pulled things from his dreams, and he didn’t tell anyone that she knew how to hide a body.

“Oh my god!” Another voice broke in before Ronan could reply. He looked up to see one of her teammates just feet away. He crossed himself when Ronan looked at him, “Renee, is this your boyfriend? Where have you been hiding him? And are you willing to share?”

Ronan looked at the short pastel girl, “They really have no clue you’re gay as fuck?”

“Ronan!” She exclaimed, punching his shoulder. 

“Don’t blame me because you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘subtle’.” He offered her a sharp grin, “You border on “Too gay to function”, Walkman.”

“Fuck off!” She parroted him, but her face was so red Ronan could have spot her from a mile away. Her teammate was looking at her like she had grown a second head. His mouth keep opening and closing like he wasn’t sure what to say, how to react.

“Oh my god,” He settled for, “Renee, You’re gay?” He blinked, “Fuck, you can curse?”

Renee covered her mouth, but Ronan knew she was smiling behind it. “You really have them all fooled don’t you?” Ronan asked her. When she failed to reply fast enough, he glanced up at her teammate, “You know when we first met she was illegally reading my mail?”

“You  _ what _ ?” 

“Will you let that go already?” Renee groaned.

“Kerah!” Opal whined next to him, tugging on his sleeve. Ronan lifted his hand and placed it on her head, unknotting the curls.

Renee grinned her dazzling smile, one that Ronan didn’t recognize, one that she must have found when she found God. “Hello! You must be Opal! I’m--”

“Renee Walker!” Opal spit out, “And you’re Nicky Hemmick!”

The boy named Nicky looked like he was going to cry. Oh dear Opal made a grown man cry. He leaned forward on Renee, smiling through the tears.

Nicky whispered, “Not to be dramatic, but I’d die for her.”

“You’re always dramatic,” Another voice said sharply, but not unkindly. Ronan looked up to see a blond girl with battle braids and a judgemental look standing not to far behind them. Ronan was no stranger to expensive things, and it appeared as if this girl wasn’t either.

“Who’s the punk?”

“Who’s the blonde?” Ronan countered.

“Allison Reynolds!” Opal yelled, “Number Seven!”

Every cold hard edge to the woman melted.

“Knock that off,” Ronan huffed at Opal, “I will not have you befriending an entire Exy team.”

“What’s wrong with Exy?” Renee asked because she knew the exact answer to the question. Ronan gave her his middle finger in return. 

“I did not drive six hours straight for you to be a little bitch.” Ronan told her. “Stop corrupting my kid.”

Renee gave an innocent grin, “How is talking about Exy corrupting? Its a lovely sport!”

“Its a stupid sport and you know it!” Ronan glared at her.

Nicky laughed, “Don't let Kevin hear you say that. He'll explode!”

“Who the the fuck is Kevin?”

Nicky and Allison shared a surprised look. Opal bounced to her feet nearly tripping over Ronan's body in her haste.

“Kerah! Kevin Day!” She said like it was supposed to mean something to him. And yeah, maybe it did, but he wasn't going to give Renee the satisfaction of seeing the recognition on his face.

“The best exy player ever!” Opal squealed, “ _ volo spectare!! Queaso? Queaso!”  _

Renee held out a hand to him, “I’m glad you came, Ronan. I can’t wait to introduce you to my family.”

And because Ronan was not a fool, because he had seen her clean blood off wooden floor boards, and listened to her worries about her teammates, all the while never pushing him to explain exactly what sort of magic nonsense his friends had gotten into, because he had every intention of having her over for Christmas later that year when Blue, Gansey and Henry came back from terrorizing the rest of the world, Ronan took her hand and grinned at her.

“Yeah, whatever, Walkman.”


End file.
